I am not good at parties. I am the guy who sits down on the couch and watches everyone else stand in the middle of the room as they talk and dance and whatever. I am the guy who goes to the kitchen to mix another drink and takes too long looking around, avoiding eye contact, pretending that I’m really too busy to talk to whomever else is there and that making this drink is a really important choice, when really all it is, is me delaying the inevitable moment when I have my drink and nothing else to do. I stand in the corner. I sip my drinks. I listen in on conversations. I stand close enough that maybe I might be part of that group over there if you don’t look too closely, but really I’m all by myself. Far too often. All alone. In the middle of a busy room.
So why should this party be any different? Well, it would have been super easy to do my normal thing. What was my normal thing? Glad you asked. Like I said, I sit, stand, whatever, away from others and drink my drink. Then I get another. Then I drink that one. Then I repeat that. Lots of drinks. Too many drinks. Three, five, seven or more. Enough that I lose count. Enough that I lose everything else – inhibitions, memory, maybe even whatever it was I had for lunch. Bottom line, too many drinks.
So why was I not drinking unreasonable amounts? Well, the mask helped. In a couple of ways. It made it hard to consume much of anything. Maybe if I had a straw. Or was willing to take the mask off. But the mask was tight and the mouth hole was small and I wasn’t able to really consume any liquid without partially spilling it all over my chin, and the chin of the mask, in the process. So I drank less.
I could have taken the mask off, but it was a costume party after all. The costume was the point. Besides the costume was my guardian, my protector and my liberator. It guarded me from being recognized. It protected me from having to talk to anyone I knew but didn’t really want to talk to. And it liberated me from my hang-ups and inhibitions. People didn’t have to know who I was. I was free.
Who needed alcohol when I could hide behind a mask?!
As long as I wore the mask, I could do what I wanted. I got on the dance floor. I talked to strange women. I got to have fun. Hot sweating half-suffocating fun, but fun none the less. The mask and secret identity allowed me to be me. Hooray.
As you can probably guess, I am very good at talking to woman at parties. I am the consummate ladies’ man. Tonight I rolled out one of my signature moves. Get distracted, wear a mask that makes me hot and uncomfortable and obscures too much of my vision, turn too fast and be totally unaware of the woman that is standing beside me. And knock the drink out of their hand. Don’t forget that part. That part is super important. They love that. They really really do.
“Sorry,” I stammered.
“It’s okay. Really.”
I reached down, as if I was somehow going to magically absorb the liquid off the ground. Someone in the crowd yelled out “party foul.” Others laughed or clapped. People love when other people drop things and do something embarrassing. Humans are great that way. We love to shit all over people who are already self-conscious. Why did I ever come out to the party in the first place? Regrets and embarrassments I have in plenty already. I need new ones like I need a hole in my head. So much for the “magical mask of anonymity.” My mask was now synonymous with buffoon.
But then a hand reached out and touched my arm. It was her, the woman whose drink I so viciously attacked. I looked up at her. Looked into those all-consuming eyes. Soft green eyes. Peach pale skin. Light brown hair. Bright red lips. For a brief moment all I saw were powerful broken up snippets of images, like my mind couldn’t process what I was seeing yet. I knew there was beauty there, but I was fixating on all the separate elements. It was like a fog had come over my mind and I couldn’t see the whole picture yet.
“Leave it,” said a lovely female voice. “Let someone else get it.”
Who was this strange and beautiful woman in the tight black dress, and how did she already have such a hold over me? It was like she was in my mind, my heart and soul. I knew there were things like pheromones that made people fall in love instantly, I just never really believed in them or thought they were real. But this sure seemed real. Either she was a figment of my imagination or she had some sort of love spell or there really was something such as love at first sight. She was suddenly everything. I knew I would do anything she wanted me to. I would follow her anywhere she wanted to go.
As if she was already psychically in my mind, she smiled and said, “Let’s go to the kitchen so you can get me another drink.”
I nodded. I did owe her a new drink. This beautiful woman wanted me to go somewhere with her and get her a libation. Of COURSE I was going to do it. What sort of fool wouldn’t?
So we went to the kitchen and found her a new red cup and I mixed her a vodka drink with about five different types of fruit juices added for flavor. Vodka mixed pretty well with just about anything and I knew women loved fruity mixed drinks. I might be terrible at flirting and hitting on them, but I knew how to mix a mean drink.
“You’re not having one?” she asked.
“It’s… um… hard to swallow,” I pointed out the tiny mouth slot in my mask. “I’d just spill it all over.”
“Well that’s just dumb. Take off your mask and have a drink with me.”
Her tone was playful, but there was a commanding undertone to it all. She wasn’t suggesting something so much as she was planting subliminal messages. I found it very hard not to instantly obey everything she ever said.
“But it’s a costume party.”
“You look hot. Take your mask off.”
“You can tell?”
“You’re sweating down your neck. Your shirt collar is soaked.”
It was true. The party was full and the temperature was rising with crowded body heat. I was sweating down my chest and back. Taking off my mask felt like a good thing to do.
My hair was sweaty and matted down, but she complimented my face anyway. “You look much happier with that off. Better too. And you must feel better.”
I nodded in agreement. I wish I had a mirror. I’m sure I looked like a mess. My urge was to run away and fix it all, but she had already seen me and she didn’t seem to care. So maybe it was okay.
“Here, let me…” she said as she reached over and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt collar.
“There, doesn’t that help? Feeling better?”
It did. “I do,” I replied.
“Maybe you should unbutton another button… or let me.”
Was this what I thought it was? Was she hitting on me? Was this girl actively trying to get me to take my clothes off?
“Okay!” I tried not to shout. This was frigging awesome, but I wanted to maintain some sense of dignity. “Okay,” I said again, trying to act much cooler and indifferent.
I reached up for my shirt button just as she reached up for my shirt button. Our fingers touched. Just the tips. It was like a spark between us.
“Sorry, I–” I began to mumble something unintelligible, but she put her finger to my lips and stopped me from talking.
“It’s okay. I’ve got this.”
She undid another two buttons on my shirt and spread the sides apart, letting my chest breathe. That was way too many buttons. Way too much skin. It opened my chest and showed off some hair, but it was way too low and showing off way too much. Not at all how I rolled. Not me at all. Her fingers stayed there, touching the buttons. She looked me right in the eyes and smiled. I looked at her, then at her hands, then back at her. What was happening here? What was this girl doing? The way she held onto the placket, it was like she was about to rip my shirt the rest of the way open and tear all the buttons off in the process. But maybe I wanted her to. Maybe I wanted her to bite them off one at a time. I was suddenly sure that if I suggested that to her, she would in fact do it. Her eyes looked like she was ready to consume me. If I didn’t know better I would say she was an animal in heat and I was her prey. She was about to jump me right then and there. It was like no one else was around. We were in the middle of a party, but we were a million miles from home. She was the only thing on the planet. The only thing I could see or conceive of right now.
“I’m so hungry,” she said.
I didn’t know what that meant. Did she want food? Was I supposed to take her somewhere? Her fingers worked down my shirt, feeling my chest and stomach through the fabric. Suddenly I knew exactly what she meant. She wasn’t hungry for food. She was “hungry” for something else. And I really was going to be her prey.
One finger made its way onto my belt. She paused there. I wanted it, wanted it so badly. I wanted her to keep going. Keep going, I thought. Would she keep going? Please keep going! I wanted to shout. My pants were getting tight. If she looked down, she would have known. She looked me in the eyes, never breaking my gaze. I’m sure she knew exactly what was going on deep down in my pants.
The finger flicked off my belt, her fingernail grazing against the front of my pants. Was it just her fingernail? I could swear I felt more. She must have felt more. She must have felt everything.
Why did she stop? Oh god, why!
She smiled and licked her lips. She could totally read my mind. She knew everything I was thinking.
“Whoooo are you?” I finally whispered, gathering my strength back up.
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Little did he know that she was a predator and he was her latest prey. As a were-woman succubus, she needs fresh masculine energy to feed on. But she's just a little too hungry -- and drains him just a little too much.
Suddenly Henry finds himself transforming into a girl every full moon, experiencing that same insatiable lust and need to feed. And strangely, he enjoys it. Actually looks forward to it. And soon discovers that only being a girl once a month simply isn't enough for him. So he seeks out a way to make it permanent -- and become an immortal, intoxicating, beautiful full-time female succubus too.
65 pages | Read Free Sample
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